"The scene was laid in an open space between a city-wall and its farthest houses. From the stage downwards, there was most naturally represented the wall, with two great towers descending from the upper part of the hall, on one of which were bagpipers, on the other trumpeters, with another wall of fine proportion flanking them; thus the hall figured as the town-ditch, and was traversed by two walls to support the water. The side next the seats was ornamented with Trojan cloth, over which there projected a large cornice, with this Latin inscription, in great white letters upon an azure ground, extending across that part of the theatre:—

"'BOTH WARS ABROAD AND SPORTS AT HOME
GREAT CÆSAR PATRONISED;
LIKE DOUBLE CARE BY MIGHTY MINDS
'MONGST US SHOULD STILL BE PRIZED.'

"To the roof were attached large bunches of evergreens, almost hiding the ceiling; and from the centres of the rosettes there descended wires, in a double row along the room, each supporting a candelabrum in the form of a letter, with eight or ten lighted torches, the whole diffusing a brilliant light, and forming the words POPULAR SPORTS. Another scene represented a beautiful city, with streets, palaces, churches, towers, all in relief, but aided by excellent painting and scientific perspective. There was, among other things, an octagon temple in half-relief, so perfectly finished that the whole workmen of the duchy scarcely seemed equal to produce it in four months; it was all covered with compositions in stucco: the windows were of imitation alabaster, the architraves and cornices of fine gold and ultramarine, with here and there gems admirably imitated in glass; besides fluted columns, figures standing out with the roundness of sculpture, and much more that it would be long to speak of. This was about in the middle; and at one end there was a triumphal arch, projecting a couple of yards from the wall, and as well done as possible, with a capital representation of the Horatii, between the architrave and the vault, painted to imitate marble. In two small niches, above the pilasters that supported the arch, there were tiny figures of Victory in stucco, holding trophies, whilst over it an admirable equestrian statue in full armour was spearing a naked man at his feet. On either side of this group was a little altar, whereon there blazed a vase of fire during the comedy. I need not recapitulate all, as your Lordship will have heard of it; nor how one of the comedies was composed by a child and recited by children, shaming mayhap their seniors, for they really played it astonishingly; and it was quite a novelty to see tiny odd men a foot high maintaining all the gravity and solemnity of a Menander. Nor shall I say aught of the odd music of this piece, all hidden here and there, but shall come to the Calandra of our friend Bernardo, which afforded the utmost satisfaction. As its prologue arrived very late, and the person who should have spoken failed to learn it, one by me was recited, which pleased much: but little else was changed, except some scenes of no consequence, which perhaps they could not repeat. The interludes were as follows. First, a moresca of Jason, who came dancing on the stage in fine antique armour, with a splendid sword and shield, whilst there suddenly appeared on the other side two bulls vomiting forth fire, so natural as to deceive some of the spectators. These the good Jason approached, and yoking them to the plough, made them draw it. He then sowed the dragon's teeth, and forthwith there sprang up from the stage antique warriors inimitably managed, who danced a fierce moresca, trying to slay him; and having again come on, the each killed the other, but were not seen to die. After them, Jason again appeared, with the golden fleece on his shoulders, dancing admirably. And this was the first interlude. In the second there was a lovely car, wherein sat Venus with a lighted taper in her hand; it was drawn by two doves, which seemed absolutely alive, and on which rode a couple of Cupids with bows and quivers, and holding lighted tapers; and it was preceded and followed by eight more Cupids, dancing a moresca and beating about with their blazing lights. Having reached the extremity of the stage, they set fire to a door, out of which there suddenly leaped nine gallant fellows all in flames, and danced another moresca to perfection. The third interlude showed Neptune on a chariot drawn by two demi-horses with fish-scales and fins, so well executed. Neptune sat on the top with his trident, and eight monsters after him (or rather four of them before and four behind) performing a sword-dance, the car all the while full of fire. The whole was capitally done, and the monsters were the oddest in the world, of which no description can afford an idea. The fourth showed Juno's car, also full of fire, and herself upon it, with a crown on her head and a sceptre in her hand, seated on a cloud, which spread around the car, full of mouths of the winds. The chariot was drawn by two peacocks, so beautiful and well managed that even I, who had seen how they were made, was puzzled. Two eagles and as many ostriches preceded it; two sea-birds followed, with a pair of parti-coloured parrots. All these were so admirably executed that I verily believe, my dear Monsignore, no imitation was ever so like the truth; and they, too, went through a sword-dance with indescribable, nay incredible, grace. The comedy ended, one of the Cupids, whom we had already seen, suddenly appeared on the stage, and in a few stanzas explained the meaning of the interludes, which had a continued plot apart from the comedy, as follows. There was, in the first place, the battle of these earth-born brothers, showing, under the fabulous allegory of Jason, how wars prevail among neighbours who ought to maintain peace. Then came Love, successively kindling with a holy flame men and earth, sea and air, to chase away war and discord, and to unite the world in harmony: the union is but a hope for the future; the discord is, to our misfortune, a present fact. I had not meant to send you the stanzas recited by the little Love, but I do so; your Lordship will do with them what you like. They were hastily composed whilst struggling with painters, carpenters, actors, musicians, and ballet dancers. When they had been spoken, and the Cupid was gone, there was heard the invisible music of four viols, accompanying as many voices, who sang, to a beautiful air, a stanza of invocation to Love; and so the entertainment ended, to the immense delight of all present. Had I not so bepraised it in describing its progress, I might now tell you the part I had in it, but I should not wish your Lordship to fancy me an egotist. It were too good fortune to be able to attend to such matters, to the exclusion of more annoying ones: may God vouchsafe it me."

Though much of this detail regards the accompanying entertainment more than the comedy, it cannot be deemed out of place, as illustrative of the way in which these were managed in a court where we have frequent occasion to allude to such pastimes: the preceding description fully explains the often-mentioned moresca, and almost entitles us to translate that word by the better known French ballet. The Calandra continued to be played on select occasions in Italy, and we hear of its being produced at Lyons in 1548, before Catherine de' Medici and her husband, whose largess to the actors exceeded 2500 crowns.

This piece, though improved in incidents, is avowedly indebted for its plot to the Menecmo of Plautus, a comedy already popular through a translation performed at Ferrara, in 1486-7, by the children and courtiers of Ercole I., in a theatre built on purpose within the palace-yard, and costing with its decorations 1000 ducats. In regard to its proper merits, no one can deny the amusing complexity of the plot, the constant succession of absurd mistakes among the personages, the ingenious contrivances by which these are alternately occasioned and extricated, the bustle of the entertainment, and the racy humour of the dialogue. In order to let these be appreciated, an analysis larger than our space can permit would be necessary, and neither the character nor the wit of the piece could be preserved without introducing intrigues and language repugnant to modern decency. Ginguené has conveyed a tolerable idea of the comedy without greatly shocking the reader, but has consequently suppressed much of its fun, and to his pages we must refer for detail.[98] The story turns upon the adventures of twins, a brother and sister, who, perfectly resembling in person, but unknown to each other, are simultaneously parties to love intrigues, carried on through the agency of a clever valet, and at the cost of a drivelling husband (Calandro) in the course of which they frequently interchange the dress and character of their respective sexes, a magician being ever at hand to bear the blame of what appear physical transmutations, and a double marriage of course happily solving all embarrassments. Although unquestionably rich in the materials of broad farce, it is evident that such a plot is but indifferently adapted for embodying manners sketched from life.

The corruption of morals in Italy during the golden age of her literature and civilisation is a painful topic, but one naturally suggested by these remarks, and which cannot with truth be entirely thrown into the shade.[*99] It was especially developed in the free gratification of passions to which an enervating climate is considered peculiarly incentive, and which induce to amorous indulgence. The due restraint of these was reckoned neither among the virtues nor the decencies of life, nor was their licentious exercise limited to persons of exalted station. The sad example set in luxurious courts spread to classes whose sacred calling and vows of continence rendered their lapses doubly disgraceful; and those whose tastes and cultivated understandings were fitted for purer and nobler pursuits wallowed without discredit in the slough of sensuality. With such instances, even among the finest characters, these pages render us unfortunately too familiar. Instead of multiplying or repeating them, let us hear the calm admissions of a late writer, whose evidence cannot be deemed partial on such a topic. In talking of Bembo, the Italian translator of Roscoe's Leo X. thus touches upon this delicate subject: "It must be observed that most of the poets and writers of that age, although resident at Rome, and dignified by prelacies, preferments, and offices of the Church, were infected with the like vices, or, as some would express it, tarred with the same pitch. The spirit of that court, the manners of these times, the licence of ideas among literary men, their constant reading of ancient poets not always commendable for modesty, the long established and uniform intercourse of the Muses with Bacchus and Venus, the fatal example afforded by certain cardinals, and even by several of the papal predecessors of Leo, whose children were publicly acknowledged ... all these considerations show how difficult it was at such an epoch, and especially in the capital of Christendom, to continue exempt from corruption and licentiousness."

In no language, perhaps, does there exist a jest-book more disgustingly prurient or so full of sacrilegious ribaldry as the Facetiæ of Poggio Bracciolini. Were such a work published now-a-days, the author would be hooted from society, and the printer laid hold of as a common nuisance. Though the parties to above half its obscene anecdotes are from the clergy or the monastic orders, there occurs throughout the foul volume no word of blame nor burst of indignation. Yet it was compiled for publication by a priest, the confidential secretary of pontiffs, and one of the stars of a literary age. If more direct evidence of dissolute habits among the clergy be required, it will be found in the reports of P. Ambrogio Traversari on his disciplinarian circuits among the Camaldolese convents, of which he was general from 1431 to 1434.[100] It would be loathsome to enter upon the details, but a generally lax morality among those specially devoted to religious profession must be considered as at once the occasion and the effect of much social perversion. The poison disseminated from such a quarter was sure to pervade all ranks, and the standard of public decency must have sunk low indeed ere monastic debauchery ceased to create universal scandal. When churchmen had become very generally latitudinarians in theology and libertines in morals, the corruption of their flocks need be no matter of surprise. It was in the beginning of the sixteenth century that these evils had reached their height, and the miseries of foreign invasion under the Medicean popes were even then regarded by many as judicial inflictions from Heaven. Hence was it, that, although Italy was supereminent among nations, although illustrated by the triumphs of mind, adorned by the productions of genius, and enriched by the gains of intelligent enterprise, she was nevertheless deficient in moral power, and when tried in the furnace of adversity was found wanting. With institutions whose freedom had no longer vitality, with rulers intent only on selfish ends, and with citizens relaxed in principle and knit by no common political ties, the very advantages lavished upon her by nature and civilisation proved her bane, attracting spoilers whom she was powerless to resist. Melancholy is the thought that all her mental superiority was ineffectual for her defence; but yet more humiliating the fact that those on whom nature's best gifts were showered, and who were foremost as protectors of literature and the arts, were often, by their fatal example, chief promoters of the general demoralisation. No wonder then that she fell, and in her fall presented a signal lesson to future times "of the impotence of human genius and of the instability of human institutions, however excellent in themselves, when unsustained by public and private virtue."[101]